


Rollin'

by AvaKelly



Series: Bits and Pieces [27]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Blushing, First Kiss, Helping From The Shadows Bucky Barnes, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Oblivious, Sharing a Bed, Wheelchairs, against evil managers, and stuff, avenging bucky avenges the regular folk too, but i'm not telling you which, the problems of wheelchairs, they are ace in my head because of reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: "Keep rollin' rollin' rollin'..." Clint mutters to himself as he rounds the large living space of the Tower's penthouse. He's been stuck inside since forever now and he's ready to climb the walls. If he could, he would. He made that bet with Tony and he intends on winning. As soon as his legs start working again."Clint," Nat sighs from where she's sitting on a sofa, "what are you doing?""'m bored," he tells her."It's been ten minutes. Literally."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tanouska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanouska/gifts).



> For Tanouska. Thank you (for many things lately). *slides fic over*
> 
> (I'm aware not all people have the same experiences in life. If anyone feels I depicted the experiences of wheelchair users wrongly, please let me know.)
> 
> Song from Limp Bizkit. Heh.

"Keep rollin' rollin' rollin'..." Clint mutters to himself as he rounds the large living space of the Tower's penthouse. He's been stuck inside since forever now and he's ready to climb the walls. If he could, he would. He made that bet with Tony and he intends on winning. As soon as his legs start working again.

"Clint," Nat sighs from where she's sitting on a sofa, "what are you doing?"

"'m bored," he tells her.

"It's been ten minutes. Literally."

"But--"

"Clint."

Clint spins the wheelchair so his back is turned to her, but that doesn't solve anything, because she walks around him and raises an eyebrow, arms crossed.

"Let's see," she says. "You got a hairline fracture on your tibia, which would've healed days ago if only you'd've stayed in medical."

"Don't like medical," Clint mumbles, and he realizes he's pouting, but this is beyond anything that's ever happened to him. Not even that one time he got pierced by a rebar through the shoulder was this bad.

"But instead of just taking it easy, you continued to walk on that leg."

Clint hangs his head.

"And then what happened?" Nat asks.

"I made it worse," he breathes.

"But did that stop you? No. You fell down the stairs and sprained your  _ other  _ ankle."

"Come on," Clint starts, but Nat's frowning at him, amusement completely gone. It just tells how worried she is, and Clint snaps his mouth shut.

"Until the doc says otherwise, you're not leaving that chair," Nat declares, for the fourth time since they left medical half an hour ago.

Clint whimpers. "I'm a bizkit," he says.

"You're a biscuit?"

"A _limp_ bizkit," he explains, gesturing at his legs.

"Oh for fuck's sake!"

But she's laughing, worry alleviated, and Clint smiles to himself. He also promises to be good until he heals, if not for himself, then for Nat.

~

Clint only manages two days stuck inside the tower before he decides to brace the outside world. At least some sunlight would do him good and he ignores JARVIS' suggestion to go out onto the terrace instead of wheeling himself to the nearest park.

All's well, the sun is shining, the grass is green, the birds are singing... until Clint decides to drop by his favorite pretzel cart and notices, for the first time ever, that there's a step separating him from his treat.

One single step, from one alley to the next, that's unfortunately too tall for him to roll over it.

He ponders, for a second, standing up, but Nat's face flashes before his eyes and he leaves it be, with a muttered complain.

~

Clint grabs his coffee, carefully setting it between his legs, and turns the chair toward that table he likes in the corner of the Starbucks. He hates their coffee, but loves that window seat, because he can relax against the wall and--

The flimsy aluminum chair that Clint just grazed flies cross the floor, hitting two people and toppling over another chair.

At least the coffee didn't spill.

"Watch where the fuck you're going!" someone yells.

"Well I would if I had _enough room_ to go anywhere," he grits back.

His mood is shot, so he drops the coffee on a table and rolls away.

~

The day is the first one that's properly sunny in the past week, after rain that seemed unending, and Clint is back at the park. He's bummed by the prospect of skipping his pretzel today as well, but he needs air. There's only so much avenger team bonding that he can take. Not that he doesn't like Tony's sense of humor, or Steve’s delicious talent for bullshitting, or Sam's sarcasm, or Thor's bright views on life, or Bucky's murder eyes. Those eyes are worse than Nat's. No, better than Nat's, heh. Clint grins to himself. He's been watching everyone sparring, morosely so, but it has also given him time to observe their styles. He can't wait to apply his newfound knowledge to finally kick his brainwashed bro on his ass.

He's about to head home when he notices it.

A ramp.

Leading from the alley he's on toward where the cart usually sits. It looks new, freshly poured concrete that hasn't had time to polish with use. A kid on a skateboard whoops as she runs down it, but then moves aside for another wheelchair user. Ah, so someone must have complained to the park administration. Clint gives it no second thought because now he can get a pretzel.

It has him grinning all day.

~

Things keep happening.

Well, not _bad_ things. But it's suspicious enough that Clint keeps his eyes peeled. He's at the end of his third week in the chair, very close to the doctor visit that will replace his cast with a walking one, but Clint finds himself postponing it for a few days.

Because, and he's pretty sure he's not imagining this, he has a stalker.

Well, it's not a _bad_ stalker. Or is it? Are all stalkers bad?

Anyway, there it is again, people working frantically to fix yet another access point that Clint couldn't use before. This one is right at the entrance to the range he's been using, the old ramp too steep for him and causing his chair to slide backwards a few times. If his arms weren't already strong, he's sure he would've torn a tendon trying to keep himself from rolling into traffic.

But now, as often in the past week, things have changed.

Clint rolls closer to the range manager that's supervising the operation. Greg's not a bad guy, but he's not the most considerate either. Clint's known him for years. He's the type of burly jock that has grumpiness written all over, doesn't really pay attention to others and thus doesn't care about anything much. He was a ranger back in his youth before he retired, and now he's carrying around that military rigor with a permanent frown. Few people can scare him and even fewer are not intimidated by him.

However, today Greg's eyes are wide and shifting rapidly about, as if he's waiting for an unseen enemy to jump out from behind the cars parked along the sidewalk.

"Finally decided to fix this, eh," Clint comments.

Greg throws him the dirtiest look Clint's ever seen on the man. "It's all your fa--" he starts, but suddenly stops, eyes glued somewhere behind Clint.

He turns to see only cars and pedestrians, all across the street--ah! A glint of metal, there one second, gone the next.

Clint narrows his eyes.

So that's how it is.

That evening Clint convinces Nat to play along after she catches him postponing his medical check up indefinitely.

~

It's no use. For over a week now Clint's been going further and further away from the tower, searching for those places that offer no wheelchair access, those places that are hard to maneuver through, those places that make him feel less for being in a chair.

Like that last accessible bathroom that had a mirror made for either standing people, or wheelchairs occupied by giraffes. He left a passive aggressive message on the glass, written in his favorite purple marker - a permanent one - saying  _ 'My eyes are down here!'  _ with a downward arrow next to it.

He's back there now, and the bathroom has everything it needs, even a new sink that completely replaces the lack of any sink Clint faced last time.

But Bucky doesn't come out, no matter how hard Clint tries to lure him. And he's sure by now that it's Bucky doing this for him.

The assassin remains elusive while Clint's desire to thank him properly grows stronger.

~

Clint grins to himself as he rolls toward the stairs ahead, attention subtly strained back to where Bucky's been watching him from behind one of the trees lining the sidewalk. He bumps into the first step once... twice...

"Dude," comes in an annoyed voice, "why the hell do you want to enter a Turkish Bathhouse. You have a cast! It can't get wet!"

By the time he finishes, Bucky's standing in front of Clint, waving his arms with frustration. Clint smacks his lips together, pretending to think it over.

"You know what," he says, without bothering to hide his smug smirk, "you're right. Let's go get some coffee, I know this awesome place with a shiny new ramp."

Bucky inhales and for a fraction of a moment Clint thinks he's messed this up, but then Bucky laughs, shaking his head.

"Fine," he sighs. "You got me."

Clint grins. "Does this mean you'll let me thank you properly?"

"Sure, punk," Bucky mutters.

"Great. Coffee first," Clint spins, then looks up at Bucky who's falling into step next to him. "Want a lap ride?" he jokes.

Ah, but instead of more laughter, Bucky coughs, cheeks red and Clint blinks.

What.

Damn, now his own face is too hot and he has no way to hide it, but thankfully Bucky's looking straight ahead.

~

Clint doesn't mention it and Bucky doesn't mention it, Clint's awkwardness forgotten.

They're friends now. Or at least sharing meals and coffee together. And sometimes when Bucky can't sleep, Clint finds him sitting in the armchair in the corner, watching over Clint. Actually, that's  _ most nights  _ and it should be creepy, but there's something in the way Bucky needs him that fills Clint's heart with comfort.

~

"You sure you don't want a lap ride?" Clint asks as they make their way toward the doctor's office to finally have that cast removed. "Last chance," he sing-songs.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You gotta pay for dinner if you want a lap dance, Barton," he says.

Clint giggles more than laughs, but he's in a good mood. Last night Bucky finally relented and lied down next to Clint, which allowed Clint to rest his cast on Bucky's leg, which then turned into the most relaxing sleep Clint's had since his original fracture.

"So if I pay for dinner you're gonna wiggle your ass enticingly against my crotch? What, no kiss first..."

And the words die on his lips because there's  _ more  _ lips on his. Bucky's specifically, and they're warm and soft and Clint's too shocked to move.

Bucky leans back up, then, face looking as scared as it is red, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

Two seconds later the nurse calls for Clint, interrupting their mutual staring.

When Clint wobbles back out on his new crutches, it's Nat waiting for him instead of Bucky.

~

"What do I do?" Clint asks Nat for the third time in as many minutes, receiving another sigh in return. "You're very unhelpful, you know."

She puts her book down and looks at him. "Really," is all she says, monotone and unamused.

Clint whimpers.

"Steve was congratulating you the other day," Nat says.

"I thought it was about the arrows."

"That Bucky bought for you--"

"Yeah--"

"As a two weeks anniversary."

Clint blinks. He blinks again. "Who buys two weeks anniversary gifts?"

"People who're relearning to be human," she grits and Clint remembers how they both learned things from each other when she joined him at SHIELD.

He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat while Nat goes back to her reading.

So Bucky thought that they were dating. And he kissed Clint. And Clint--did he like it? Well, yeah. He also liked Bucky sleeping next to him, and the meals, and his sense of humor, and his strength, and his stupid face... aw.

~

Clint stares at the ceiling in the darkness of his bedroom, waiting, but Bucky's late. He's about to fish for his phone when the door opens and closes quietly, followed by soft footsteps on the carpet.

"You're not asleep," Bucky says.

"You know I'm rarely asleep," Clint returns. Silence follows while Bucky doesn't move. Clint can see his silhouette against the night sky visible through the window. "Come here."

"Why?" Bucky asks, but moves closer and sits on the edge of the bed, back to Clint.

Clint lifts himself to a sitting position, then leans against Bucky, a sigh leaving his lips. Yes, this is good, Bucky's good and warm and--

"I like you," he says.

"Yeah?" Bucky rasps.

"Mhm," Clint hums.

Seconds stretch as they sit there, and Clint drinks in this comfort. But a yawn overtakes him, so he pulls at Bucky's arm.

"Come on," he says. "Lie down and kiss me again."

"I thought you wanted a lap dance," Bucky jokes.

It's so wonderful to hear the amusement in his voice again, that Clint's heart skips a beat. And another as Bucky's lips touch his again, and another as he plasters onto Clint, head against his shoulder.

"This is better," Clint breathes, finding Bucky's hand over the cover. "There's a ramp at the stadium that's broken. Wanna go there tomorrow and scare them silly?"

"Sure," comes back in a whisper, followed by a peck to his cheek as Clint closes his eyes.

And he's rollin' rollin' rollin' into dreamland, into warmth, into the next day, and the one after that, into Bucky's arms, his smiles, his life.

Yeah. He's got this love thing rollin'.

~End~


End file.
